She hesitated a second before replying. "My name is Isabel," she said. "Isabel Francis," she added a little lamely.
"I shall call you 'Isabel' if I may," said Tony. "'Miss Francis' sounds so unromantic after the thrilling way in which we became friends."
He paused until the waiter, who had bustled up again with a bottle of champagne had filled their respective glasses and retired.
"And as we have become friends," he continued, "don't you think you can tell me how you have managed to get yourself into this—what shall we call it—scrape? I am not asking just out of mere curiosity. I should like to help you if I can. You see I am always in scrapes myself, so I might be able to give you some good advice."
The gleam of fun in his eyes, and the friendly way in which he spoke, seemed to take away much of his companion's nervousness. She sipped her champagne, looking at him over the top of the glass with a simple, almost childish gratitude.
"You have been kind and nice," she said frankly. "I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't been there." She put down her glass. "You see," she went on in a slower and more hesitating way, "I—I came up to London this evening to stay with an old governess of mine who has a flat in Long Acre. When I got there I found she had gone away, and then I didn't know what to do, because I hadn't brought any money with me."
"Wasn't she expecting you?" asked Tony.
Miss "Isabel Francis" shook her head. "No-o," she admitted. "You see I hadn't time to write and tell her I was coming." She paused. "I—I left home rather in a hurry," she added naïvely.
Tony leaned back in his chair and looked at her with a smile. He was enjoying himself immensely.
"And our two yellow-faced friends in evening-dress," he asked. "Were they really old acquaintances of yours?"